


blood and sand

by assassinslover



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, F/M, Forbidden Love, Gladiator Lexa, Slavery, but i promise lexa doesn't die, do you guys know what to expect yet i'm all out of tags, roman noble/princess clarke, this is bloody and graphic and not very nice, trying to cover all my bases with these tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:16:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7142207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassinslover/pseuds/assassinslover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ON HOLD - got mad writer's block. If anyone has any ideas feel free to message me.</p><p>The roar of the crowd.</p><p>The blood on her face.</p><p>The sand between her teeth.</p><p>The sweat in her eyes.</p><p>The sound of thousands chanting her name.</p><p>And the one that doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I saw gladiator Lexa fanart and I had to. I told you guys I would and I did. I won't make promises for updates, same as with Natblida. They'll happen when they happen because writing is hard.
> 
> (https://zhe-end.tumblr.com/post/145081136037/gladiatorlexa-because-why-not)

Blood and sand was her bread and butter. The feel of it hot on her skin, the grit of it between her teeth. The sound of an arena full of people shouting her name: _Lexa, Lexa, Lexa._ She smeared the blood of her fallen foes across her face, streaked it over her eyes and down her cheeks and raised her crimson blades to the sky, bellowing out a war cry until her throat was raw. It was met with equal fervour. Always the crowd wanted blood, and always Lexa would deliver.

Usually it was other slaves that were thrown into the pit with her, men and women who were little more than skin and bones, sweating under the hot Polisian sun and stumbling in the scorching sand, barely able to hold a sword. Lexa tried to make their deaths quick and painless. Her audience cared not how it was done so long as blood was spilt. The animals were worse. It was almost a crime to slaughter something so beautiful, so ferocious, just to entertain the masses. At least they put up a proper fight.

The other gladiators were the most fearsome challenge. Twice a month they were paraded through the arena like prized horses, pitted against each other in re-enactments of glorious battles with their shining armour and razor sharp swords, leaving the sands beneath their feet awash with blood and guts when they were through. Lexa knew now how she had survived the years she had been held captive, a pawn to be played in Empress Nia's games. She would not say it was by the grace of the gods, for if the gods had any mercy they would have let her die the moment she set foot in the arena to face her first foe, a man with a lifetime of experience behind him, sentenced to fight as punishment for desertion. She still bore the scars from that encounter, raised across her arms and stomach, hardened by time.

And now the time had come again. The summer solstice was upon them and the air was thick with the sweet smell of wine, along with other, less savoury smells. The noise carried even to Lexa's cell, buried as it was beneath the stands of the arena, wound around the thick bars that served as a window to the outside world. Lexa sat on her thin straw mattress in her thin shift, listening, waiting. There was little for her to do in the hours that she was confined to her room but sit, or pace, or further tone and strengthen her muscles. She ached to have a sword in her hand, to hear the slick cut of it as it sliced through the air, to hear the ring of steel on steel. She ached to feel blood on her skin, to taste hot sand on her tongue.

But there would be no practice until the pit-master fetched her and the others, and so she sat, and waited, leaning back against the cool, rough stone behind her, her legs crossed and her eyes closed. She did not pray, she doubted the gods would hear her even if she did, but she focused on the flow of her breath through her body, on nothing else but the beating of her heart and the pumping of her blood through her veins, feeling her pulse flutter like the wings of a butterfly at each of her wrists. She did not move until the familiar clatter of heavy keys at her door drew her from her trance. She stretched her legs and stood to face the door. Once it opened she stepped out into the dimly lit hall and followed her fellow fighters down to the armoury to don her gear and discover just what challenges would face her when she stepped out onto the sand.

The air smelled of sweat and oil and leather, the smells of home. Lexa took her place in line with the other gladiators and watched their pit master stride back and forth in front of them, his dark skin shiny with sweat. Lexa lifted her head a bit higher when his black eyes passed over her. Once everyone was assembled, Pike stopped and turned to fully face the men and women standing before him, slaves and deserters, debtors and murderers; criminals all.

“The rules are simple,” Pike said, his deep voice bouncing off the walls. “Two teams, one red, one blue. Take what you can from what is provided in the arena, and do what it is you all do best. Give them a good show, and if you do not meet your death on the sands, perhaps the empress will see fit to spare you. The last one standing from each team will face each other one on one tonight, when the sun paints the sky the colour of blood. What follows is in the hands of those more powerful than I.” He paused. “Try not to kill each other, if you can. Training is expensive and my time and money are both valuable.”

Lexa knew what than meant; an auction. What better time than the solstice? Many nobles were willing to take a bet on injured gladiators if they thought the reward was worth the risk, and drink clouded everyone's common sense. Lexa had known several of her companions who had been given such a fate; to risk life and limb in the arena for masters who sat in shaded boxes and planted their soft asses on pillows, gambling and drinking as they watched men and women die below them. Lexa's destiny so far had carried her elsewhere. For a year she had sat in the cells below the arena, watching countless faces come and go, seeing those she had murdered in her sleep.

More than once she had nearly met her end. It had only been the crowd who had saved her, and so it was for them that she preformed, with some kind of sick, twisted determination. It would have been easier to simply let the sands claim her as they had so many others, but something in her refused to let her die; a faint hope that perhaps, one day, she could win her freedom back.

Pike herded them into an open room, where with wooden swords and shields they practised while the arena above was prepared for the bloodbath that awaited them. Lexa glanced at the faces around her and wondered who she would kill that day. She would give them clean deaths, if she could- no man deserved to bleed to death, trying to hold his guts in with his hands-but such things were not always possible.

Her body knew the motions better than her brain, and her brain knew them well. Parry here, thrust there, always be anticipating your opponent's movements. Watch their eyes, not their body. She was not infallible, the scars that lined her body were evidence enough of that, but she was still alive and there was something to be said for that, after so many had come and gone. Above her she could hear the creak of the supports, strong as they were, as the masses were allowed to take their copper bit seats and the nobles were escorted to their private boxes and shaded awnings, kept cool by slaves with fans and sweet wine, fed grapes from platters of silver. The others knew it as well. Lexa felt the air in the room change; a tinge of excitement, a hint of fear, but mostly the rising of adrenaline. They may not have been born for it, but they had been bred for it.

The call came a time after, when the fighting of men and beast had become nothing but noise in the back of Lexa's mind. “Line up!” Pike shouted. He had no need to crack the whip he held, but he brandished it all the same. They were the main act, not the opening, but they would wait by the gates, preparing to meet whatever the gods had in store for them while a massacre happened above their heads. “One tap on the shoulder for blue, two for red,” Pike continued, and made his way down the line. Lexa stood with her head held high and faced straight ahead as she felt two smart taps on the edge of her shoulder, right against the bone.

When Pike reached the end of the line, he ordered them forward, and they split where the short hallway ended and curved around, the passages leading to both the large gates that opened onto the sands. Lexa took stock of her teammates as they walked through the hall to take their place, just behind where the sun's light reached into the corridor. They were not evenly matched. Lexa would be boasting to count herself amongst the better, but it was the truth. Two were still weak, new-blood from the northern provinces, but Rowan was a former soldier and the other, whose name Lexa did not know, had a good look about him.

She went through the remaining five gladiators that had been pulled from their pens in her mind. She did not know if Pike had chosen the teams on purpose or had simply picked at random, but the balance was not in her favour. The men and women on the other team weren't soldiers, but they were as hardened by the arena as Lexa, and one a bloodthirsty murderer, who cared nothing except for the killing, and the crowd loved him for it. They craved the spilling of blood as much as he did, and roared all the louder when he twisted his victims entrails between his fingers. The others were slaves, and bore the scars of their former lives as proudly as they did those of this one. A formidable crew.

But Lexa knew better than to let her thoughts run away. Standing in the shade just shy of the sunlight, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her nose, and out through her mouth. There had been a time when she had been teased for her strange pre-battle ritual, but once she had slit the throat of those who had spoken against it, the jests had stopped, and even the newcomers knew not to make jibes, or else face Lexa's wrath at the end of a blade.

From above came the growling of beasts and the screams of frightened men, the crunch of bone, a flicker of red across the blue sky. The crowd roared as loud as the lion as it was herded back into its pen, the victor, at least for now. Lexa rolled her shoulders, loosening muscles drawn tight by an age old instinct. The blood was washed clean by ragged slaves with rakes and prepared for the next game, for the pitting of gladiator against gladiator. She was too far down to hear the words that were spoken next, but she knew what was being said. A battle of blood and glory, of strength and skill, wit and brawn. A red sash was pressed into her hand. She tied it around her arm, pulling it tight with her teeth. A command was shouted and the heavy gate that barred the entrance to the arena was lifted with the screeching grate of metal chains. Guards stood behind Lexa and her companions to force them forward if need be. One of the northerners was sobbing. Lexa did not wince at the sharp thwack of wood against flesh. He stumbled out with the rest of them, his cheek and lip bleeding and his eyes wet with tears.

Lexa put him from her mind and stared across the arena towards the opposing team. Deep blue fluttered against a backdrop of wood and stone and sand. Before them, in the middle of the arena, was a pile of weapons of all kinds, and the rare shield, an invaluable asset in the right circumstances.

A horn sounded and as one all ten gladiators turned to face the empress' box, as she stood and stepped out into the sunlight. She raised her hands to silence the cheers that sounded at her presence. When the noise died down she spoke, addressing those staring up at her from the pit. Lexa felt her jaw clench and steadied herself with a breath, steadily working it loose.

“If you should die today, let it be known that it is for the glory of my empire and all of her peoples. Let it be known that you do not die a slave, or a deserter, or a murderer, but a hero to the people of this city.” Her voice rose as she spoke, until she was almost shouting, working the crowd into a dangerous frenzy. She retreated into the privacy of her box, flanked by her son at her right and her paramour on her left. Once more the triumphant cry of horns filled the air, and then the battle began.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The screaming of the audience drowned out any noise Lexa's companions may have let fly. The northerners were the first to scramble towards the weapons, and the first to be felled, one with his hamstring sliced and the other knocked out by a blow to the head. The others were smarter. The weapons were tempting, that was true, but fists could be just as much a weapon as a sword or axe. The murderer was the one Lexa kept her eye on. Regardless of what Pike had said, given free reign with the spear he had snatched from the pile, would cause as much chaos as he could muster, and no one would stop him. As long as one pleased the crowd, they could do what they liked.

Lexa stepped carefully around the edge of the arena, keeping her back to the wall, her body loose and ready. One of the blue team gladiators spotted her and came towards her with a roar, thinking her easy prey. Lexa side-stepped the first thrust of her sword and slipped inside the woman's guard, bringing her knee up to catch the inside of her thigh and slamming the heel of her palm into the gladiator's jaw, snapping her jaw shut with a snap and forcing her back a pace. Lexa ducked back and waited. The woman spat out blood and part of a tooth and came at her again, wariness written in every line of her body. Lexa made sure the wall remained behind her, her best line of defence against a flanking. Every weakness would be exploited, Lexa knew that better than most. Not showing a single one was the only way she had survived as long as she had.

The woman made another move, bringing her sword down in a swift overhead slash that would have easily cut down to Lexa's bone had she been there to meet the blade. Instead she was a pace to the side, the sharp iron only a hairsbreadth away from her arm. She reached out and in two swift movements and a single sharp jerk twisted the woman's wrist painfully until her fingers loosened around the hilt of the sword and dropped it into Lexa's own hand. Lexa made to hook her foot around the back of the woman's ankle and sweep her feet out from under her, but the gladiator leapt back with a skill honed by countless similar fights. The odds were in Lexa's favour now, but they could change hands in a second, the same way the woman's sword had slipped from her fingers and into Lexa's. She had no wish to kill her opponent if she could help it, but she would if it meant saving her own life.

The choice was not hers to make. A spear pierced the gladiator's side and a brief look of surprise flashed over her face before she fell to her knees and toppled into the sand. Behind her stood the murderer, a look of glee on his face. He cared not who was his teammate and who was not; the only thing he had a taste for was blood. Well, Lexa had no intention of letting him claim any of hers. Her wrenched the spear from the fallen woman's side with a wet sound and brandished it towards Lexa. It was a wicked weapon, made for killing, the tip sharp and shiny with bright blood and a sharp curved hook fastened at its base. If the madman managed to catch that on Lexa the damage he could cause would be great.

The length of the weapon gave him an advantage, but he was clumsy in wielding it, and the adding of the hook had thrown off the balance of the shaft. Lexa's blade was far from finely crafted, but it felt sturdy in her hand and its edge was sharp. A well placed strike could sever the polearm in two and Lexa at an advantage once more. The man, however, as mad as he was, knew what he was doing. His jabs and slashes moved Lexa away from the wall, circling her around until the whole of the arena was behind her, leaving her back vulnerable to attack from one of the other gladiators and forcing Lexa to have eyes everywhere. Once he had her where he wanted her, the madman went on a full-offensive, pushing Lexa towards the centre of the area and trying to latch the hook around one of her arms or legs.

He was laughing, sweat drenching his face and plastering what hair he had to his skin. His smile made Lexa's skin crawl and his teeth were black and rotten. His cackling pierced her ears. He was deranged, absolutely insane, and enjoying every second of it. He feinted, making to stab towards Lexa's arm and at the last possible second dipping the blade towards her leg. Lexa barely managed to move aside in time and even then felt the sting of the spearhead across her thigh. The madman hissed something in a tongue that Lexa did not know but that sounded like something born of evil. Lexa ignored the hot blood trickling down her neck and found her footing on the sand. Enough.

Lexa let the next thrust of the spear go under her arm and wrapped her fingers firmly around the shaft and yanked. Startled, her opponent's grip faltered, but he held fast. Lexa pulled him close enough that she could smell his stinking breath and met his sneer with one of her own just before she slid her blade up under his ribs and into his lung and heart. He tried to breathe and blood bubbled at his lips, staining his teeth red. Lexa pushed the blade a bit deeper, feeling his blood flow over her hand and down her wrist. Pike had said to try and not kill each other, but perhaps this one death he would excuse. Lexa yanked the sword free and released the spear, letting the madman crumple to the ground, coughing up more blood across the coarse sand. She reached down and soaked her fingers in what poured from the sound in his side and smeared it across her eyes, pausing only to watch as the life left his before she turned to face the rest of the fray.

The encounters had taken perhaps five minutes at most, but in that time two more gladiators had fallen, leaving the teams evenly matched. One of the blue had found a net in the pile of arms provided to them, one turned from a tool to a weapon with small, sharp spikes, and as Lexa watched managed to tangle his opponent with it, the deserter, Rowan. He went down fighting, but down he went, bleeding from dozens of cuts to match the dozens of spikes. There was no sign of the man whose name Lexa did not know, but she felt in her gut that he was amongst the bodies lying motionless on the ground. Three blue remained to one red, her. The only chance she had was to dispose of one opponent before the other two fully realized what was happening.

With light steps Lexa ran across the sand, snatching a falling shield and hoisting it up her arm with a firm grip. The madman's blood had slicked the hilt of her sword. Lexa paused only to wash it in the sand before standing to face her next challenge. The man was armed with a sword, same as her, and even if the only thing he knew of using it was which end to grab, his bulk gave him a distinct advantage. He looked a brute, but there was respect and intelligence in his eyes. Lexa knew he saw the same in hers. They advanced slowly towards each other, testing with quick, soft blows, gauging possible openings before they were presented. What followed next was a dance of blades that could have been choreographed by a master, the ring of metal on metal and soft grunts as blades found flesh. From the corner of her eye Lexa saw Rowan throw off the net and tackle his opponent to the ground, the two of them rolling like children in the blood-soaked sand. The remaining fighter was trying to get between them, to find a place to stick his blade amongst the flailing limbs, but neither man gave him much opportunity. Lexa let the confrontation pass through her mind and focused her attention on the one at hand. Even the smallest injury could kill. Already her body was beginning to ache, the weariness just at the very edge of her consciousness. The fight needed to be finished quickly, before a mistake could be made.

What she lacked in size she made up for in speed. It took far more energy for the blue team gladiator to swing his heavy sword and move his body than it did for Lexa, and it was simple for her to begin slipping under his swings and step away from his thrusts. It was harder, however, to step inside his guard. Difficult as it was for him to find his target, he knew what he was doing, and his guard was strong. Sweat stung Lexa's eyes and made fresh tracks in the blood drying on her face. She did not want to kill the man in front of her, nor did she wish to injure him so badly as to permanently end his fighting career. At least not until tonight, when there would be a proper spectacle made, and when the chances of one or both of them surviving were far higher.

The blade of his sword rang off Lexa's shield hard enough to send a violent tremor up her arm. The second blow nearly buckled her legs beneath her. Desperation had added to his strength, and while Lexa's was not inconsiderable, it was no match for the sheer amount of muscle on her opponent's frame. She met the next blow against her shield and grit her teeth against the pain, shoving the man's arm aside and driving her own blade forward. The loud arena horns sounded just before the tip of the sword pierced the man's flesh. Lexa barely stopped her momentum in time. The fraction of a second pause gave him time enough to move away.

Lexa straightened and took stock of the battlefield. Three dead, by the looks of them, two more unconscious, and the remaining three awake and breathing but soaked in their own blood. She met the gaze of her opponent. A few hour's reprieve and then it would be the two of them once more, but this time there would be no stopping when the horns blew. This time, there would be no stopping until one of them was dead on the sand.

 


	3. Chapter 3

She washed after her and the blue team victor were escorted back to their respective cells, each given a bucket of fresh water and a clean rag as a prize. Both were swiftly dirtied as Lexa sluiced off the sand, sweat and blood that clung to her skin before she turned her attention to her injuries. There were already bruises forming on her knuckles from having the heavy, solid weight of her stolen shield bashed against them, and the cut on her thigh was starting to ache. She cleaned it, jaw tight against the pain, then prodded at it with her fingertips. It was long, and tender, but superficial. She had been lucky. The others warranted no more than a glance; a scratch on her cheek, another on her arm. They would be all but gone before the day was out, provided she lived to see the next one.

She laid back on her cot, hands laced on her stomach, and closed her eyes, but not to sleep. Never to sleep. Not until exhaustion drove her to it. Outside her tiny window she could hear someone crying. Someone else was shouting. Animals were bleating. They were the sounds she knew. As the minutes passed her body grew weary, yet still she did not sleep, only rested. She knew the passing of time only by where the sun shown on her body, and the red glow behind her closed eyes. New slaves and prisoners would be brought in soon, to provide fodder for the entertainment of the crowd before the true spectacle began. If they were lucky they would die quickly. If not, they would be maimed and useless, and thrown out on the streets to die in a gutter. Or be condemned to a life of servitude like the one Lexa knew, fighting for each bit of bread and drink of water. Fighting for the priveledge of living. With a deep breath, Lexa let go of the carefully controlled rage she held within herself. One day more, she thought, as she head a scream and the crack of a whip.

 

She was on her feet and waiting when Pike came to fetch her. It was not her first time, and so she led rather than followed, through to the armoury where she was given leather and a sturdy shield and sword. So, they wanted the battle to last them. Lexa would give them what they wanted. She always did. When Pike offered her a helmet she refused. The crowd like to see her face, and she hated the way it restricted her vision. If she died, it would make no difference whether her head was covered or not.

Pike had nothing to say to her, not that Lexa had expected her would. He had seen more gladiators come and go than Lexa had lived years. One more would mean little more to him than an empty cell that needed to be filled. He buckled the straps that Lexa was unable to reach and stood to the side, waiting for the final call. Lexa adjusted the sit of the leather on her chest and shoulders until she was satisfied with its fit and let the blade of the sword carve through the air a handful of times to test its weight. Nothing else mattered so long as the edge was sharp and the hilt did not shatter. She let it hang at her side and flexed the fingers of her other hand. She was thankful her knuckles had not swollen, but her fingers felt sore and stiff. She curled and un-curled them until she could wrap them firmly around the shield strap and hold it tightly enough to withstand a blow without dropping it.

Beneath her breast her heartbeat was slow and steady. Her hands were steady. If she met her death, she would accept it gladly. Maybe it would finally grant her the peace she desired. She closed her eyes. Her time was close. The rafters above her head shook with the force of the crowd screaming and stamping, drowning out whatever was happening on the sand above her. She knew her rival would be preparing the same as her. Lexa never learned his name. It was better that way. Names prompted connections, and there was no room for those and the emotions they carried with them in Lexa's line of work, if it could be called that. She wondered if he felt as calm as she did, or if his skin was slick with nervous sweat and his fingers trembling. She had been that way once, when she was young and green and scared of her own shadow. She would never be that way again.

She heard the trumpeting of a horn. Pike nudged her shoulder, an unnecessary touch, and she moved, walking with her head held high through the halls she had inhabited since she was first brought to the city, since her first desperate scrap against a man twice her age and three times her size. As she stood in the last rays of sunlight, waiting for the gate to open, she touched one hand to her side, where her first scar was. It was a jagged, ugly thing, but she had learned her lesson well, and there would not be another. Not like that.

The gate creaked once, heavily, then slid open to a roar from the people gathered to watch. Across the stadium she saw the other gates do the same and watched her opponent step out into the fading sunlight. Its crimson rays flashed off the metal of the blade in his hand. Once more, Lexa was handed a red sash, and once more she tied it around her arm with quick fingers and a tug with her teeth. The man did the same with his blue. His eyes met hers over the sand, and she bowed her head to him. The butt of Pike's whip on her shoulder pushed her out into the arena. She shielded her eyes against the setting sun until her vision grew used to the change in light, then peered up at the empress' box. Roan and Ontari were still there, Roan looking disinterested, lounging against the parapet, and Ontari whispering something in Nia's ear, but they weren't alone this time. Lexa did not recognize the faces in the box, those of a man with dark, greying hair and a beard covered chin and the woman next to him, with kindness written deep into the lines of her face, but whoever they were they were important enough to sit with the most powerful woman in the world.

Lexa turned her gaze away as Nia rose to deliver her speech and bent to rub hot sand between her hands and across the leather of her sword hilt. The last thing she needed was her weapon falling from her hand. She heard Nia's words, but they went in one ear and out the other. She had heard it all before. The speech changed little from game to game. All it was was about sacrifice and the glory of the empire. Lexa knew it was nothing but talk, honeyed words to hide the atrocities that the legions carried out on Nia's orders. She and her opponent walked forward as one, meeting in the middle of the arena, then turned to face the box and salute their empress, one that neither of them truly accepted as their leader.

“Give me a good death,” the man said, “should it come to that.”  
Lexa nodded, once, turned her front towards him and took several steps back. Nia settled back to watch the show in the shade of her box with her family and guests, growing fat on sugary treats and all the wine her belly could hold while one of the people below her had theirs split. Lexa set her shield in front of her, using its length to cover the left side of her body from shin to chin, and let the blade of her sword rest against the edge, her weight light and easy on the balls of her feet.

The fight started with a lunge, one that Lexa easily deflected with her shield. The blade rang hard off the metal edge and sent a jolt up Lexa's arm, but failed to make her lose her grasp on the shield strap. Lexa fixed her positioning and met the next blow with the flat of the shield. The crowd was screaming for blood. The experimental trading of blows was too tame for their tastes. There was no point in testing each others strengths. At the end of the day one of them would be dead no mater how strong they were.

Lexa lashed out with her shield and clipped her opponent in the jaw, much to the delight of the audience. He stumbled back but retained his footing and spat out blood. More dribbled down his chin and caught in the straggly strands of his beard. The look that flashed in his eyes showed betrayal, and Lexa could not understand why. Had he expected her to lose? The only way he would gain victory is if he pried it from her cold, dead hands, and now that adrenaline was pumping through her veins once more, she had no intention of allowing that to happen. She stepped forward and pushed off of her back foot, using the weight behind the lunge to bash her shield against Blue's, the impact shaking up her arm. He staggered but kept his feet, and the look he gave Lexa showed that now he meant business. Good. It would mean nothing if she was given an easy victory. She needed him to fight tooth and nail for every inch if she was to continue on how she had been going, if she was to keep the adoration of the crowd.

She kept behind her shield, trying to goad Blue into attacking and leaving himself open to a riposte. She only needed one good cut to end the bout, provided the arena masters had no special plans for the two of them. She blinked away the sweat that clung to her lashes and stung her eyes. Blue wanted to live. She could see it in he way he looked at her. Perhaps he had hoped to come out of this fight with both of them alive, but he realized now that he would not have that choice. He would be dangerous now. Deadly.

Lexa took a step back, away from a sharp thrust that came close enough to brush the front of her leathers. Let him think he had the advantage. If she kept her weight low to the ground, she could get under his guard and flip him over her shoulder, and once he was on the ground a swift stab would end the fight. He fell for it. Lexa's shoulder met his stomach. He grunted loudly in her ear and tried to hold onto her, but his balance was unstable and he fell frontwards and tumbled to the ground, landing on his back on the sand with an audible thud that Lexa felt beneath her feet. She spun to deliver the final cut, but Blue had quickly regained his bearings and all Lexa was rewarded with was a face full of sand. It burned like the sun on her back and blinded her for several precious seconds. She stumbled backwards to put distance between her and her opponent while she rubbed ferociously at her eyes and managed to catch a swing on her shield just in time. The force vibrated painfully up her arm and buckled her knees. She blinked her eyes clear and forced away the second blow with the side of her sword. The metal shook with the impact.

Lexa slashed, but the blow was clumsy and ill-timed and left her open. She spun away, but not in time to keep Blue's sword from lashing across her upper arm. Lexa clenched her teeth against the pain and retreated behind her shield. Blue came at her again, a roar on his lips. Lexa slipped to the side and kicked his foot out from under him, sending him sprawling in the sand once more. The sand was all her blade met when she slashed again, for Blue had rolled away and scrambled back up to his feet. Lexa's arm burned. She felt the heat of her blood rolling down her skin.

The two of them backed away from one another, each catching their breath. Lexa wiped her brow with the back of her hand, then scooped some of her dark blood up on her fingers and spread it across her eyes. Let Blue fear the warrior he knew she was. She bared her teeth at him and screamed, running across the sand with her shield held high and her sword ready to strike. She bowled into Blue shield first and together they fell. The impact was jarring, but Blue's body acted as a buffer between Lexa and the hard ground. Still, she lost her sword in the landing and when she scrambled for it only came up with hot sand.

Blue's hands fastened around her throat, thumbs squeezing on her windpipe. Lexa responded with some of the same, wriggling the shield up until the sharp edge of it was just under Blue's jaw. This was not how she had wished for this fight to end, but if this was how it was going to be, Lexa would not let her life be taken by anyone's hand save her own. The edge of the shield began to cut, letting bright blood leak down the side of Blue's throat. The edges of Lexa's vision began to darken. She tucked her head down, trying to get her chin beneath Blue's hands or her teeth into something fleshy. The shield pressing on Blue's windpipe left her with one hand free, a hand which she rose up to press hard against the ridge of his cheek and dig her thumb into his eye socket. He let out a scream that was almost lost over the roar of the crowd. When Blue made the same move towards her own face she tipped her head back. It gave him more access to her throat, but kept him away from her eyes. She shoved the shield harder up against his throat, letting it cut harshly into his skin. Between that and her thumb hooking behind his eye, it was only a matter of seconds before the pressure on her throat began to loosen. One more and Lexa could pull herself free and pin one of Blue's arms down with her knee on his elbow.

Almost, she thought, looking down at Blue's face. Her thumb had made a mess of his eyes, even as he scrabbled to try and push both it and the shield away. Almost. It should have been cleaner than this. A stab under the ribs and into the heart and it would all have been over. He had brought this on himself. His struggles grew weaker, until his hands could do nothing more than slap weakly at Lexa's. The crowd was still cheering, but it was all white noise. Lexa heard nothing but her breathing and the rapid beat of her heart in her ears. Blue's struggles ceased. Lexa removed her hand from his face and pressed firmly with both on he shield until her stopped moving completely, and then for a few seconds after, just to be sure.

She stood on shaky legs to an audience going wild. She lifted her head up to the sun and closed her eyes. When she opened them again it was to find the empress' box. The man and woman she had seen earlier were talking amongst themselves. Roan was as disinterested as always, and his mother was infatuated with young Ontari, whose dark hair was far more tousled than the wind could make it. What caught Lexa's eyes was a new face, a fair face, strong despite its roundness, with yellow hair bound up elaborately on top of her head and the bluest eyes Lexa had ever seen boring straight into Lexa's own.

A calm fell over her, even as her heart continued to race, the feeling residing deep in her soul. She ceased to feel the pain around her neck from Blue's hands, from the cut on her arm, the weariness in her limbs that came after a fight. All she felt was a peace unlike any she had ever known. The woman's eyes were wide and bright as she stared down at Lexa. After what seemed like an aeon she turned away and grabbed the sleeve of the woman with brown hair Lexa had noticed before and spoke into her ear. The older woman sat up to look down at Lexa, then waved her hand and nodded once. The blonde turned to bow and then speak to the empress, who said something in a dismissive manner and turned back to her paramour. The man with dark, greying hair stood and touched the blonde's shoulder, and the two of them disappeared into the back of the box and out of Lexa's sight.

The gate to the pit opened. Pike stood just in the shadows, his arms crossed over his broad chest, almost invisible with his dark skin and dark eyes. Lexa tugged at the rag of red around her arm and let it flutter to the sand as she headed towards him.

“The doctor is waiting,” he said as she passed him. “Have him look at that wound and be sure it will not turn septic.” Lexa nodded wordlessly and left him behind her. The cool of the pit walls felt good against her hot skin. She let her hand press against them and walked with slow, steady steps to the infirmary, where an old woman waited to treat those who came back from their fights worse for wear than they had entered them. No words were exchanged. Lexa seated herself on an empty bed and let the doctor poke and prod as she pleased, only the occasional flinch indicating that Lexa was in any pain at all. Her arm was roughly cleaned and gently stitched, and the bruises on her throat examined.

“It will be difficult to speak for a time,” the doctor said, “but I imagine that will not be an issue for you, will it.” The doctor's tone was ice, and Lexa's gaze matched it. “Go, back to your cell. Rest that arm, or the next fight you will lose it.” So Lexa left, to go back and sit in her cell and await what would come next. Her thoughts lingered on the blonde woman and her blue eyes, the cute upturn of her nose and part of her lips. She had not felt such a stirring in her bones since... since she was a young girl, happy and unbloodied and innocent. That had been a long time ago.

She sat cross-legged on her bed and closed her eyes. In her mind she let her gaze trace over the woman's face. She seemed to be around the same age as Lexa herself, perhaps a couple years younger, just coming into the apex of her maturity. She would marry well, no doubt. It was the look in her eyes that kept drawing Lexa's attention back to that moment, over and over again. She had seen something in them, something that was almost sympathy but at the same time was nothing like it. It puzzled her, and Lexa did not like puzzles she had no solution to. She sat and thought on it while waiting for Pike to fetch her. There would be a reward waiting for her, solid gold and silver coins for her to spend or save as she wished. They would be saved, as they always were. Lexa had no need for lavish dinners or clothes she would never be able to wear while she was still a slave to the empire and its people.

But when Pike came to her cell door it was not with her prize purse, and it was not alone. The man Lexa had seen in the empress' box was at his side, a curious look on his face and a sack of coins in his hand. Lexa stood, knowing what was expected of her. She held her shoulders back, but knew better than to look the stranger in the eye. She heard the scuff of his sandals across the rushes as he stepped into her cell, felt his unfamiliar hands on her body. He was professional, at least, and gentle, as if he was checking over a horse for deformities.

“Where does she come from?” the man asked. His voice was deep and gentle.

“The north, Senator,” Pike replied. “From the provinces.”

“An escaped slave?”

“No. A warrior, taken in battle. She has done well here.”

“A warrior,” the man replied, a mixture of awe and wonder in his voice. “I have been looking to enter the gladiator business myself, and am looking for a strong line of men and women to fight for me. My daughter is set on this one. Is she for sale?”

“For the right price,” Pike replied. Lexa wisely remained silent. “She is well loved in the arena.”

“But not at her best after today.” He took stock of Lexa's wounds. “It would be wise to allow her some time to recover before she is sent to fight again. I can give her that time.”

Lexa heard Pike shift his weight. “It makes little difference to me,” he said. “I decide who comes in and out of these cells. If you have the coin for her you may take her, but be warned; the price is steep.”

The familiar rattle of coins sounded in Lexa's ears as the stranger tossed the bag he held to Pike's waiting hand. Pike tested its weight and listened to the clinking of the wealth inside. “Come with me. I will need your seal to transfer the documents, and then you may take her whenever you wish.” Lexa lifted her head as she heard the stranger leaving just in time to see a strangely kind smile on his face. Then the cell door was pulled shut behind him and Lexa was alone once more. She sat back down to wait, her thoughts on the blonde-haired girl.

 


End file.
